


Take It All

by WorryinglyInnocent



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: A Monthly Rumbelling, Burlesque, F/M, NSFW, PWP, not-friends with benefits, not-really-hate sex, strip club
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-22
Updated: 2017-05-22
Packaged: 2018-11-03 19:17:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10973673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WorryinglyInnocent/pseuds/WorryinglyInnocent
Summary: Working at Gold’s burlesque strip club in order to make rent, Belle is tired, and bitter, and she really wants to hate her employer. It would be easier if she didn’t find him so intriguing and attractive…Written for the Monthly Rumbelling prompt: “Strip Club”





	Take It All

**Author's Note:**

> Vaguely inspired by the song of the same name from the musical film _Nine._

The one thing that keeps Belle going is the thought that it could always be worse. Of all the strip clubs that she could have ended up working at, at least Spinning Wheel Burlesque is definitely the most upmarket. She sighs as she pulls on her long gloves, looking at her reflection critically in the mirror. She’s needed twice as much concealer as usual to cover up the dark circles under her eyes tonight. In the end, though, it’s not like she’s actually getting fully naked on stage every night. The point of her act is to tantalise and tease with what she doesn’t show, rather than what she does. Not that pasties and a g-string leave a lot to the imagination, but at least she’s not completely bare and grinding on a pole like the girls at the Rabbit Hole on the other side of town. The clientele here at Spinning Wheel are respectable; there are boundaries in place that are never crossed, no chance of wandering hands too close to the stage or sleazy patrons with cheap beer on their breath looking to pay for added extras – and Keith Nottingham encouraging those extras so that he can take his cut. No, Mr Gold treats all his dancers well and never lays a finger on them, but the bitterness in Belle’s mind when she thinks of her employer and what she’s been reduced to refuses to die, and she wonders how many of her fellow strippers are in this position because they have no other choice, because they can’t make rent in their day jobs and this is the only avenue open to them. She remembers her own introduction into this underground world, and the moment when she made that choice to hold her head high and survive on her own terms, no matter what.

X

The library’s opening hours have been slashed in half and with them, the librarian’s salary. There’s no way that she’s going to be able to make rent, let alone feed herself and heat her home. Which is why Belle is currently sitting in Mr Gold’s office, across from the man who owns her home and will shortly, she thinks, own her entire life. It’s a plush office; there’s no mistaking his power and influence in the town, but Belle doesn’t take in any of her surroundings, her focus sharp and entirely on the man behind the desk. He owns so much of the real estate in the town but she knows that his pride and joy is the Spinning Wheel, the club above which they are sitting. It calls itself a high-end burlesque club, but Belle gives a cynical snort of laughter because at the end of the day it’s just a strip joint like any other. The only difference is that the prices are higher and the girls wear silk and satin rather than leather and lace.

“As lovely as it is to see you under any circumstances, Miss French, I do find myself wondering at the reason for your visit here today in such a formal manner.” Gold leans back in his chair, a smug, amused expression on his face, and oh how Belle _hates_ him in that moment. He’s got the power to make her life absolute hell and he knows it. She glares at him, but for every challenge that he gives her, she’ll rise to it and match it with her own.

“I want to come to an agreement,” she says.

He raises an eyebrow. “You want to cut a deal with me?” he says, and there’s genuine surprise in his voice. “I would have thought that you would be the last person to get into bed with the town monster.”

“Oh, believe me, Mr Gold, I have absolutely no intention of going anywhere near your bed.”

He snorts. “I wouldn’t presume to think you did. So what kind of deal would you like to strike?”

“As you are no doubt aware, the council has seen fit to halve my salary. Naturally this means that I can no longer afford the rent on my flat.”

“Are you looking to appeal to my better nature for a reduction?” Gold’s eyes are sharp, narrowed.

“Not at all,” Belle says, steeling herself and trying to show him in the most blatant way she can that she’s not afraid of him. “As I said, I want to come to some kind of agreement. Everything in this life comes at a price.”

“I see.” Gold leans forward, steepling his fingers and looking over the top of them. “I think I can be of assistance to you, but then you’re a shrewd and very clever young woman, and you knew that as soon as you stepped through the door.” He pauses, looking her from top to toe and back again, and Belle can feel him appraising her figure, mentally undressing her as he sizes her up for his stage. “You’re brave, too,” he adds, and unless Belle is very much mistaken there’s a distinct edge of approval in his voice. He’s impressed; not with her body but with her audacity and the sheer strength of mind it took her to come in here with the intention of making this deal.

“Necessity is the mother of bravery,” Belle snaps back at him, and Gold gives a huff of laughter before relaxing back in his nice plush leather chair.

“If I’m going to give you any financial assistance then I require something in return as you well know. I have no use for a librarian in any of my businesses, but I’m always looking for fresh talent for my stage downstairs.”

“I thought as much.” She already knew that it would come down to this when she stepped into this office to make the deal, and she already knew that she would take it however much the thought of it might make her sick, because for the money she will make, it’s the best deal that’s out there, and in these times of straitened circumstances, there’s no room for sentimentality or modesty, just pure and bitter ruthlessness. So she stands up and boldly unzips her dress, pushing it off her shoulders and posing in her underwear, giving a grim smile of satisfaction when she sees the wide-eyed alarm cross Gold’s face. “So do I pass muster?” she asks.

He recovers himself from the shock of her sudden disrobing and smirks.

“Oh yes, Miss French. You’ll do very nicely.”

X

Ready to perform, Belle picks at the fingers of her gloves as she waits for someone to come and tell her she’s on. The dressing room she shares with Ruby and Ariel is empty; neither of them are working today and she’s alone with her thoughts and her anger bubbling away inside of her. She made the choice to be here because it was the best choice she had, but that doesn’t mean that she has to like it. She’d made that very clear to Gold on her first night. Sure, she’s grateful that she’s here and not somewhere worse and she’s grateful that she has a warm home and food on the table rather than living out of a gutter somewhere, but that doesn’t mean that she can’t hate every fibre of his being for being in this position, only moderately less than she hates the mayor for necessitating it in the first place. But then, Gold hates the mayor too, for reasons that no-one has ever really understood, and it’s with a grim irony that Belle thinks how united they both are in their loathing for Fiona Ebony.

Belle sighs, because at the end of the day, however many times she might claim to hate him (and tell him that she hates him to his face, which is remarkably often), she also can’t deny that Gold intrigues her. Possibly because, no matter how many times she expresses her feelings towards him, he just gives that impossible little smile of his and goes about his day, as if he’s so used to people hating him for, well, being himself, without actually having done anything to them personally, that it’s all just background noise now and he tunes it out with the same ease that he tunes out everything else in the world that affects him. He’s closed off, emotionally unavailable, a very private person. Belle’s often wondered if he’s interested in women at all given the fact he spends so much time around barely dressed ones without batting an eyelid, but she’s seen the way he looks at her when she’s dressed up – and when she’s undressed after her act – and she can tell that there’s something simmering under the surface there. He’s an enigma, and despite the fact she promised herself that she wouldn’t have anything more to do with him and that she didn’t like him, she can’t help wanting to know more.

Curiosity killed the cat, her father always used to say. Satisfaction brought it back, her mother countered. It’s bitterly ironic that her mother died first but that never dampened Belle’s enthusiasm for adventure and uncovering mysteries. Mr Gold is just another mystery to be uncovered, Belle thinks to herself.

There’s a knock on the dressing room door, a polite little tap that she knows belongs to the object of her thoughts, and she wonders what he wants.

“Come in.”

He slips inside the room, closing the door after him, and Belle watches him in the mirror. Their eyes meet in the glass and he gives that tiny little smile, the one that he’s trying to suppress. Belle wishes that he was less attractive, it would be a lot easier to keep detesting him then. As it is, with his impeccable suits and his dark brown eyes and his greying hair brushing his collar… God, the man’s so infuriating and Belle can’t even give a satisfactory explanation as to why.

“Good evening, Miss French,” he says. “I just wanted to see how you were.”

Belle raises an eyebrow in the mirror. “I’m fine, thank you for your concern.”

“Good. I’m glad to hear it.”

God, how can she want to kiss him and want to hate him at the same time?

She wonders why he’s really here, because it can’t just be for a social call like that. It’s not his style. Belle turns in her chair to face him properly and takes him in from head to toe, just like he did that day in his office when they came to this agreement.

“Do you like me, Mr Gold?” she asks, watching carefully for his response.

He nods.

“Are you considering ever acting on that feeling?” she presses. Gold raises an eyebrow at her and gives a sharp bark of hollow, self-deprecating laughter.

“Oh Miss French, considering the number of times you’ve made your opinion of me crystal clear, I wouldn’t dream of it. But I do enjoy your company. Your frankness is refreshing. No-one else here has the boldness to say exactly what they think of me to my face.” He smirks. “I do like that.”

“You know, sometimes I think that you want people to hate you,” Belle says, because it’s a conclusion she’s gradually coming to having been working and interacting with him in closer proximity for these past few months.

“No, Miss French, I want people to fear me.” His voice is soft and low, dangerous. “Hatred comes with the territory.”

“But you like me precisely because I don’t fear you,” Belle says. “Isn’t that a paradox?”

“I would prefer to call it the exception that proves the rule.” He doesn’t move, just continuing to watch her watching him, and adds: “You’re on stage in twenty minutes.”

Twenty minutes. Belle wonders if that’s going to be enough time, to do what she has not yet decided. To satisfy her curiosity about this intense and intriguing man.

She gets up and comes over to him.

“This doesn’t change anything,” she says.

He quirks his eyebrow again and Belle wishes that it didn’t make her stomach turn in knots as much as it does.

“What doesn’t change anything?”

She takes the plunge, grabbing him by the tie and pulling him in for a deep kiss; fierce and bruising and possessive. He’s surprised by her action and his lips are unyielding at first, but then his hands are on her waist and his mouth is opening for her eagerly, his tongue seeking out hers.

“You do like me,” Belle says with a grin once she’s finally let him up for air.

“Miss French, I like you a lot.” His voice is a growl, a husky invitation for their kiss to go further, and Belle presses up closer against him so there’s no daylight between them, hooking her arms around his neck and kissing him again. His hands splay over her back, and Belle tears frantically at her long gloves because she wants to bury her hands in his hair and actually feel the strands. The gloves are tight and slim fitting and are not designed to be taken off in a hurry, but she finally yanks them off. His hair is soft and he hisses against her lips when she scratches his scalp. This is not soft and gentle true love, far from it, but this is an itch that needs to be scratched and a mystery that needs to be uncovered, and if the feel of Gold hardening against her thigh is anything to go by then it’s a mystery that he’s happy to uncover with her.

“This doesn’t change anything,” Belle repeats, panting a little as she turns them so that she’s leaning back against the door, her hands fiddling with his tie and pulling it loose.

“I would never expect it to,” Gold replies, and she can see that past the desire in his dark eyes, he’s telling the truth.

“And it won’t happen again,” Belle adds, undoing shirt buttons as his hand skims up her thigh through the split in her dress, coaxing her to wrap her leg around him and let him grab her ass.

“I would never expect it to.”

“I still hate you.”

He snorts, and to be honest Belle doesn’t really believe it herself anymore. Then his fingers are stroking her through the gusset of her underwear and she’s scraping her nails over his nipples and the intricacies of their feelings towards each other are forgotten in the fervent need to give and receive the pleasure that they desperately crave.

Belle unhooks her leg from around Gold’s hips and summarily drops her underwear, stepping out of it neatly before attacking Gold’s belt and shoving his trousers and boxers down to his ankles in one movement. His cock jumps to attention and he ruts against her hip eagerly, but then his hand is back under her skirt, cupping her sex and sliding his fingers into her folds; waxed bare he can tell just how slippery she is

“So wet for me, Belle,” he breathes in her ear. “So sweet and luscious.”

His thumb is circling her clit in just the right way, his fingers pressing inside her are curling just how she likes them, and in that moment she hates him even more for being able to bring her such an amazing orgasm, better than any of Gaston’s half-hearted efforts when they were still together. She bites down on his shoulder to keep her from crying out and alerting the other people in the backstage area as she comes, and Gold holds her up as she rides the wave of her pleasure through into an afterglow that’s going to keep a smile on her face throughout her performance tonight. Gold gives her that smug, self-satisfied grin as she finally looks up at him, and it looks a picture when coupled with his half open shirt, crooked tie and dishevelled hair. She’s going to wipe that smile off his face, make him just as undone has he’s made her.

She takes him in hand, pumping his length firmly, and wraps her leg back round his hips.

“Condom?”

Gold fishes a foil wrapper out of his wallet and rolls the condom on, bracing himself against the door as she lines them up.

The empty coathangers on the hooks beside the door rattle as he thrusts into her, deep and hard and fast with a kind of frantic desperation. Well, it’s the first and last time he’s ever going to be inside her, but even as she thinks it, Belle’s wondering if perhaps this liaison might not be a one-time thing after all, because the man really knows how to use his hands. And his cock. Maybe they could have some kind of friends with benefits arrangement. Except without the friends part. A benefits arrangement.

“Touch yourself,” he growls in her ear, his hips snapping forward into hers and burying him to the hilt in her hot, wet channel. “You’re gorgeous when you come.”

Her hand is shaking a little as she unlatches it from his shoulder and brings it down between their bodies to rub her pearl, and it doesn’t take long before she tips over that edge again. Gold follows her a few seconds later, muffling his groans of release against her neck as his hips still. Then there’s silence, just heat and sweat and panting.

A sharp knock on the door startles the both of them and Gold slips out of her, getting rid of the condom as Belle grabs her underwear and puts it back on.

“Nearly time, Belle,” someone says on the other side of the door.

“I’ll be there in a minute.”

She glances at herself in the mirror, fixing her hair where it’s come unpinned in their ardour. Gold has made himself decent and is refastening his tie, and their eyes meet in the mirror.

“It won’t happen again, Miss French?” he asks as she pulls on her gloves again, but there’s a playful smirk in his expression.

“Of course not, Mr Gold,” Belle replies, but she already knows that it will, and despite her mixed feelings towards the man, she’s looking forward to it.


End file.
